Plotholes!
by Cazrolime
Summary: Take 1 summary, mix with humour and a sprinkling of plot, and bake for 42 minutes.
1. Elven Horse

**Plotholes **

**1. Elven Horse**

Disclaimer: The story "Elven Horse" belongs to Saikagrl, and Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. No offence or plagiarism intended—just a bit of fun, as Bilbo might say!

* * *

Explaination: For those who haven't come across it, "Plotholes" is a game where you take the summary of a story and write a ficlet, usually humorous, based on it. I don't do it often, as I am plagued by the ravages of Writer's Block, but when I do, it's fun. (grins)_

* * *

_

Elven Horse by Saikagrl  
An elven horse is born to a Rohirrim herd.

* * *

Snaga was tired, wet and annoyed. He had been ordered to go and get horses from the Rohirrim for Sauron's army, by force if necessary; never mind if the author wasn't even sure if that was how things got done. Snaga was the only all-purpose Mordor name she could think of at the moment, and she was lazy too, so Snaga was the one who had been wrenched out of his cosy post shovelling Olog-Hai dung and dumped just outside a stable which was smaller and more wooden, even if with much the same smell. That was why he was tired and annoyed.

Why was he wet? It was raining.

Snaga decided to stop breaking the fourth wall at that point and get on with the job. He walked through the unlocked door and peered into the nearest stall, standing on tiptoe in the prickly straw.

"Oh... _ewww!_!"

Yes, orcs DO say "ew".

The Rohirric woman in the stall was good at her job, which is why she made sure the newborn colt was safely born -- cutting the umbilical cord and so on -- before she looked up to see who was there. "If that's Eomer trying to steal oats again, I keep telling you, there's plenty in the--"

She stopped. "You're not Eomer."

"Indeed not," said Snaga. "I am an orc, here to steal horses." It wasn't exactly in-character, but the story was starting to slow down and the author didn't have very long on the computer.

"Golly gosh," said the equine midwife, in a deadpan voice. "And probably lawks as well. Go on, bugger off before I hit you with a saddle."

Snaga gulped and stepped backwards. His quiet life shifting dung had done nothing to prepare him for red-faced midwives, bloody to the elbows and threatening him with riding implements. "Er... all right." He suddenly remembered the title of the fic, and decided he'd better add something. "Er... why does that baby horse have pointy ears?"

"She's an elven horse."

"How does that work?"

"Her father was an elf and her mother was a--"

"Eww! I thought that kind of thing only happened in 'Celebrian'."

The midwife looked thoughtful. "You know, you're right. Besides the fact that there's no chance of their DNA being close enough to actually reproduce."

"Anyway," said Snaga suddenly, for a thought had occurred to him: "Don't all horses have pointy ears anyway?"

"That they do!"

And the elven horse disappeared in a puff of logic. The midwife washed herself and went to bed. And Snaga the orc went on to have a long and illustrious career pointing out illogic in stories, before his untimely death being mobbed by several dozen fangirls for stating that, actually, all things considered, shield-surfing down a giant elephant is actually fairly ridiculous.

_-fin_**-**


	2. Grima and I

**Plotholes! **

**2. Grima and I**

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien, and "Grima and I" belongs to DRUNKEN LANDLORD. Snaga (or at least this Snaga, as, being a Multi-Purpose Mordor Name, there is sure to be more than one extracanonical Snaga) belongs to me. And now everyone's happy. (grins)

Also, for an explanation of what "Plotholes" is, see the first chapter.

-

_Grima and I by DRUNKEN LANDLORD _

_And this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me.' My friends and I land in Rohan in the year 2990 after a night of hard partying, I will try and fall in love with Grima_

-

Hi. My name is Snaga, and I have a television.

Now, I know that televisions are uncanonical in Middle-earth, but let me explain before you set your… your _Pee-Pee-Sea_ on me. It all started the night that strange horse turned up in Rohan. Anyway, that all came to nothing, and I was hoping that the author would carry me back to Mordor the same way she'd pulled me out of it. Did she? Well, did Sauron snog Grishnakh at the '81 Christmas party?

…Actually, we all got a bit drunk that night. That metaphor isn't certain enough. Let it just be said that the author did _not_ transport me back to Mordor, but instead left me languishing in the pouring rain, in the middle of both the night and enemy territory.

So I asked if I could stay the night.

Yes, you heard that right. I, an orc, asked if I could stay the night at the Golden Hall of King Théoden. Well, what was I supposed to do? If I'd tried to walk home in that weather I'd have got hypothermia, and let me tell you right now, no-one becomes a minion of Sauron because the medical plan is good.

The long and the short of it is that I was very polite, and Théoden eventually let me sleep in an empty barn, provided I promised not to steal anything. Honestly, these humans are so paranoid. It's _Saruman's_ hordes razing your villages, not _Sauron's_! I admit the names are easy to confuse, but seriously, you'd think after three Ages at least some people would get it right.

To cap off the evening, in the darkness, I walked into a stable instead of a barn, and had to spend what was left of the night being trodden on by some half-blind old nag. Oh, well… at least the hay was warm, if itchy.

I was woken the next morning by several loud thumps from outside, and some screams. Then there was a loud splintering noise and a crash from the stall next to me; the pathetic excuse for a horse that had been using me as a pillow reared up, and I vaulted over the stall door faster than a dragon chasing a thief: I just know that beast was going to aim for my head. What is it about us orcs that horses find so bad, anyway? We'd be the ultimate fighting force if only the damn things would stay still long enough for us to get on.

But I digress. Out of curiosity, I had a look at what had fallen through the roof. In an empty stall (what? You mean I spent all night with Horsy McStinky for nothing?) was a human girl, rather bent out of shape by her fall, with outlandish clothes and a rucksack on her back. Being the kind, selfless and socially-conscious orc that I am, I checked her pulse before stealing her rucksack.

All right, I know I promised not to steal anything, but that was from the Rohirrim. And this (late) girl was certainly not from Rohan. Judging by her attire, she was from another country, if not another world. Maybe she was a Vala reject.

Oh, dear Eru, I might have pick-pocketed a Vala!

…Damn, I'm _good_.

Anyway, I got out of there spit-spot, in case anyone thought it had been my fault, and saw that a number of other, similarly dressed adolescent female humans had landed in Rohan, mainly in sizable, red-splattered craters. Crowds were gathering, and a lot of people were pointing. Got a right morbid sense of humour, has your average Rohirrim.

All the girls except one were (unsurprisingly) departed from this world, and the one survivor was staring up at that slimy Wormtongue bloke like he was Santa and Jesus all rolled into one. Wormtongue was sniggering his head off until someone pointed this out, and then he looked weirded out. The girl stood up a bit shakily – although surprisingly steadily considering she'd fallen out of the sky and stank of every kind of alcohol – and told Wormtongue that she loved him. Well, after that it was Wormtongue gaping and everyone else falling about with laughter. Then the girl died. Merciful, really. After falling out of the sky onto hard earth and gravel you're not going to get any better. I didn't blame them: I've never had such bad taste in partners as that girl, and I'm a bleeding _orc_. Not even at the Christmas party. Although I did receive a suggestive note from Grishnakh the next morning…

No, I'm not even going to _think_ about that.

I high-tailed it out of there, still holding the rucksack. Now I'm on the way back to Mordor (wish me luck), but right this second I'm sitting watching television. You see, it was in the rucksack, along with some book of prophecies called _Lord of the Rings_ or something… load of rubbish, never have believed in that kind of thing.

_Doctor Who_ is entertaining, and the human Rose wears the same kind of clothes as the girls from the sky – maybe they fell out of the television? My favourite programme, though, is _Big Brother_. The premise is that several humans are captured and locked inside the television, from whence they are expected to escape by being 'voted off' and, in the meanwhile, banter amusingly and conduct relations between themselves. With that annoying Shabaz person in the house, it can't be too long until that happens. He's more promiscuous than Grishnakh on oysters.

I must go: _The Hits_ is showing an hour of back-to-back _Gorillaz_ videos. Until next time, dear readers!


	3. Darkness has Come

**Plotholes!**

**3. Darkness Has Come**

Disclaimer: Yaddah, yaddah, you get the idea. (grins)

--

_Darkness Has Come by Nosteruion  
When Mirkwood is taken by a new Dark Lord, Legolas, now the King of all the Elven Realms, must do his best to take it back. Also, an elf maid is captured and must do her best to not give in to the torture she is submitted to. LegolasOC_

--

Calen was caught by surprise when someone appeared in her bower, quite unannounced. It was a strange elf, clad all in urple and wilver, who looked for all the world like King Legolas – except that the apparition's features were all skewed and exaggerated, his lips too pouting, his hair too golden, his eyes changing colour with every flutter of his abnormally long eyelashes.

"Your majesty…?" Calen faltered.

"No, I am LegolasOC!" announced the elf. "Come with me, Limyessannia!"

"…My name is Calen."

"Not any more!" He seized her in her Designated Helpless Maiden Grabbing Area™ ¹ and dragged her off to a land of sparkly castles and golden unicorns.

Calen gaped. "Is this… is this meant to be Greenwood?"

A look of befuddlement penetrated LegolasOC's shining façade for a second. "Whatwood?"

"Greenwood."

"No, this is Mirkwood. I have taken it."

"It's not called that any more," Calen pointed out. "It hasn't been called that since—"

"It was called Mirkwood in the fiiiiilm!" whined LegolasOC, in a high-pitched squeal that almost ruptured Calen's eardrums. "Anyway, Limyessannia…"

"_Calen_…"

"_Limyessannia_, you must now go and seduce Legolas, despite the fact that he should not, in fact, even still be in Middle-earth!"

"What?" Calen was dumbsmacked. Seduce Legolas…? "But… but that would make me a Mary-Sue!"

"Exactly!" LegolasOC's grin was manic and brimming with botox. "You're catching on!"

"Noooo!" cried Calen. _I must not give in to this torture!_

Meanwhile… Legolas was wondering how in Middle-earth he had come to be king of a country he should no longer be in, and which in fact should not exist. "I could have _sworn_ we'd renamed it Greenwood," he muttered to himself in the throne room of the big, shiny castle which really shouldn't have been there. He glanced at the angry letter on his desk – it was from Círdan, something about a coup and did he remember what had happened to Fëanor – and sighed.

Suddenly, there was an evil laugh. Legolas leapt up, struck a heroic pose, and rushed outside to see a Stu'd-up version of himself holding a female elf tightly by her Designated Helpless Maiden Grabbing Area™. "Unhand that fair maiden!" he cried in a brave and clichéd voice.

He needn't have bothered, as Calen chose that moment to knee the Marty-Stu in his Male Nitwit Kneeing Area™ ², thus defeating him and saving the world. And there was much rejoicing as Canon restored itself and everything went back to normal. Mirkwood was again called Greenwood, and the spiders ate all the unicorns. The sparkly palace disappeared, to be replaced by a far more functional underground one. And Legolas disappeared and went back across the sea, where Gimli scolded him for staying out so late.

About ten minutes or so later, a very out-of-breath orc puffed into the scene. It was Snaga, whom you might remember from previous instalments of Plotholes.

"I'm here," he wheezed, "I've come to save the day."

He looked around at the world, happily ticking over without his help.

"Oh."

Calen inspected him. "Are you going to try to upset Canon as well?" she asked shortly.

Snaga heard a groan, and looked down to see LegolasOC, locked tight in his own private world of pain. "No," he said quickly, "in fact, quite the opposite! I… er…"

"…Yes?" prompted Calen, when the orc didn't follow up on his 'er'.

"Er…" Snaga said again, and then blurted out the first thing his tongue settled on. "Want to go for a drink?"

Calen shrugged. Her bower seemed to have disappeared, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. "Yeah, why not?"

And there's your romantic ending. Look, they're walking off into what would be the sunset if it wasn't midday. Yay. Wasn't that fun?

--

¹ Her right upper arm.

² Somewhere south of his right upper arm.


	4. Nakia and Snape

**Plotholes!**

**4. Nakia and Snape**

**--**

You can probably guess the disclaimer by now! And today's Plothole is taken from a Harry Potter fic, so sadly Snaga could not make it. Ah well.

--

4) Nakia and Snape by Nora davidson  
THIS STORY IS ABOUT A GIRL WHO TURNS INTO A WOMEN AND FALLS FOR FOUR MEN AND WILL HAVE TO PICK ONE TO CHANGE HISTORY FOREVER.

--

Nakia was certainly no ordinary girl, with her 5-foot-7 frame, brown hair and eyes, and slight podge. Not in a world of pink-haired catgirls, sultry teenage vampires, and Last Survivors of Ancient Angelic Races. Of course, her name was rather boringly predictable, but you couldn't have everything.

She was also unique in _not_ being teased for her individuality, picked on, victimised, orphaned or otherwise caused to angst along with all the other girls. So it was that one evening, when her classmates were holed up alone in their dorms or melancholy under the lonely moon -- where they were fighting for elbow-room, whilst the Giant Squid watched in amusement -- Nakia was in the library, doing homework. The others had whizzed through the two-foot essay, but then Nakia was considerably less clever than Hermione.

She saw a flash of intense purple.

Imagine her surprise when she transformed into a women!

This was fairly painful, as it involved the replication of bodies whilst the mind and soul remained in both. Ex-prepubescent Nakia reflected, wincing, that this was probably what it felt like to make a Horcrux, except that she was now staring at herself and her shirt was slightly tighter.

Staring out through two separate pairs of eyes, Nakia leapt back in shock, but then cried out twice in pain as one body fell backwards over a chair and the other bumped into a suddenly-appearing Professor Snape.

"Owow!"

"Watch your step, girl!" chorused four disapproving voices.

Nakia managed, after a couple of false starts, to raise two pairs of wide eyes up to see Professor Snape. Her first thought was that she must have hit her heads harder than she thought, for there were four Snapes standing there, glowering down at her over their hooked noses, their faces lined and hair mysteriously greyed.

But then they spoke again. "So the spells affected you too, did they?"

"Wh--what happened?" quavered Nakia in trembling harmony with herself.

"Some students saw fit to cast a Multiplying Hex and an Ageing Jinx at me." The Snapes raised their arms together, and Nakia saw, struggling in one pair of hands but held fast, a green-haired, spunky-looking sixth-year girl and a busty centaur student with vivid magenta eyes.

The green-haired girl snivelled. "You only hate me because my mother was a fairy and I'm Harry Potter's girlfriend."

The centaur, on the other hand, was looking defiant. "You're an evil Death Eater! I hexed you out of sexual tension! SEXUAL TENSION I SAY!"

Nakia blinked, and the Snapes looked even angrier than they had a moment ago. Nakia tried not to think about the punishments the students would get. "Can't you break the spells, though?"

The Snapes scowled. "I have potions that can counteract the Ageing Jinx," they said. "But the Multiplying Hex is a tricky thing, so the fastest way to reverse it is to point out which is the original person."

He stared into the eyes of each Nakia so hard for a moment that it made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. "For example, you are the real..." he paused imperceptibly "...student." He nodded towards one of the Nakias.

She gritted her teeth, waiting for the change, but none came. "Why isn't it working?" she asked, and heard the double-voice again with dismay.

"You have to do me first," Snape said. Then he pulled a disgusted face. "Did I really just say that?"

Nakia stared at the Snapes. How was she meant to guess that? They were all identical – wait… she had an idea, far from a certainty, but she thought that she knew which was real...

"You," she said. "The Sna-- uh, Professor Snape holding the two girls."

There was a great rattling and blowing of wind, and several very ancient and valuable books toppled from their shelves, sending Madam Pince into a catatonic state. Snape and Nakia were whirled up into it as it flowed in a rainbow stream that was thankfully free of glitter, and their clones vanished, disappearing into a mass of colour, which in Snape's case was mostly black, as the wind died down.

Snape was back behind the bookshelves, near the Restricted Section, the two troublemakers were nowhere to be seen, and Nakia was once again sitting at the table struggling through the essay, blissfully prepubescent once again. In fact, it was ten minutes earlier. The counter-curse must have had some powerful Author's Whim behind it, as the whole escapade had now never happened.

Then Nakia saw a flash of intense purple...


End file.
